


4. Ryan gets over himself and calls Sam

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [4]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	4. Ryan gets over himself and calls Sam

_**Ryan Kwanten gets over himself and calls[](http://www.journalfen.net/users/sam_worthington/profile)**_[ **sam_worthington**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/sam_worthington/)  
It's been ten days. Ryan's gone a full gamut of extreme emotions, from nearly erasing Sam's number from his cell phone, to waking up drenched in sweat from needing him so bad. His mind still rails at the latter.

But there are only so many songs he can write in a row about obsession before his agent drops the hints and outright demands something else, and frankly, Ryan is fucking exhausted. Maybe he's built Sam up too much in his mind, anyway. Maybe if he cuts to the chase and sees the man in person, he'll get over this and they can both walk away clean this time.

 _Right_.

Sam glances at his phone, grinning when he sees the name on the display. "Hey," he picks up. "How're you doing?" He's been thinking a fair bit about Ryan, which in and of itself is unusual, but given the intense scene they'd shared, he'd been determined to let the other man be the one to make the next contact.

"Hey. Good." Ryan's nearly disarmed by the easy greeting. Well, what the hell was he expecting? Sam seemed pretty much no-bullshit from the start. It's just that Ryan didn't think things would be so easy. "You?"

"I'm good too," Sam says with a smile, looking up and out the window for the first time in over an hour, the script he's been reading set down on the chair beside him. "Just having a coffee and reading through a new script." He stretches his back, cursing softly under his breath as something cracks. "What about you? What're you up to?"

"Um. Nothing." Ryan rolls his eyes at how scintillating he sounds. "Working, I mean. Just trying to shift gears mentally, because I think I'm getting in a rut." He frowns at the pencil-scrawled pages scattered across his piano. "Need a break from your script?"

Sam's smile widens into a grin. "Yeah, I could probably use one."

Ryan can hear the smile in Sam's voice, and it transmutes into excitement, tingling right up his spine. "I could help you with that. Want me to meet you?"

"Sure, or I can come wherever you are," Sam offers, still stretching out his body which is telling him, very loudly, that it doesn't fucking appreciate being strung between two chairs without moving for the last couple of hours. He pulls his feet from the chair across from him and plants them on the floor, leaning forward and scrubbing his face with one hand. "I'm not at Cit right now but I can go back. Whatever's easiest."

"Split the difference, I'll meet you at Cit," Ryan answers quickly. The thought of Sam coming to his house is just... too much. One of the few boundaries Ryan has left. "Twenty minutes? Or is that too eager for you?" He grins.

Sam laughs. "Give me thirty," he says. "I think I'm gonna need some more caffeine."

It's way more time than Ryan needs, but after about five minutes of indecision he ends up simply changing into clean jeans and a t-shirt. It's tempting to go a little more dressed up - is this a date? - but in the end he figures that Sam liked him well enough simply for himself the first time; something must have worked. He's waiting outside Sam's Citadel room in twenty-five, fingers tapping in an unnamed rhythm against his thigh. He's too excited, he tells himself.

It doesn't change things one bit.

On the way up in the lift, Sam glances in the mirror, noting he looks scruffier than the first time he met Ryan. Motorhead t-shirt on over old cargo pants, his favourite Blunts, and somehow he missed shaving today. Oh well. Too fucking late now. He scrubs a hand over his face again and laughs, shaking his head. Maybe he can at least shave before Ryan arrives. Or not, he amends quickly, stepping out of the lift to find Ryan standing outside his door. "Hey." He grins. "I wasn't exactly expecting company today," he says, gesturing at himself as he closes the distance between them, pinning Ryan against his door for a long hard kiss. "You look good though."

With a soft moan of agreement, Ryan grabs Sam and drags him back in for another kiss. "Don't mind," he breathes once they come up for air again. God, Sam feels good, solid and hot beneath his hands. "Glad I didn't overestimate the dress code."

Sam laughs. "You'd look good to me no matter what," he says, reaching behind Ryan to swipe his keycard through the reader and open the door, mouth back on Ryan's as he pushes him into the room.

Stumbling just a little, Ryan works at Sam's clothes as he goes, tugging his t-shirt up so he can work his belt buckle open. He gets distracted fast, though, sliding his hands up over Sam's chest with just an edge of fingernails.

Groaning into Ryan's mouth, Sam draws back only long to tug the other man's t-shirt up over his head and drop it to the floor. He gets Ryan's jeans open, hand around his cock and strokes, hard and rough, thumbnail digging into the slit.

"Christ!" Ryan jerks, clutching at Sam. Then he damn near melts, precome pearling up.

Sam grins and pushes Ryan back until he's up against the back of the couch. "You trust me?" he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb over that drop of liquid, slicking it around the head of his cock.

Ryan gasps and nods, then drops his hands to his sides. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, his eyes on Sam's, his heart beating like he's charging the face of a 10-foot wave.

"Good." Sam nods, lifting his thumb to his own mouth to lick it clean, his jeans tightening even further. "Close your eyes."

Fuck that's hot. Ryan licks his lips, his gaze lingering on Sam's mouth for a moment longer before the order filters through to his lust-hazed brain. "...Sir," he mumbles, shutting his eyes.

"I'll be right back," Sam says, heading for the cabinet in the corner. "No peeking," he adds with a grin, getting rid of his own t-shirt on the way.

 _Well, fuck_. At least Sam didn't tell him to stand still. Because Ryan starts fidgeting inside of a second, simply out of surprise -- it creates frustration where before there was none. Eyes shut tight, he chews on his bottom lip and strains to listen for any telling noise that will tell him what's coming.

It only takes Sam a moment to find what he's looking for. Before he's back and fastening the leather sheath around Ryan's cock, rows and rows of tiny teeth digging into the hard flesh beneath.

Ryan bucks into Sam's hand with a cry and it only increases the sudden pain. "Sir," he gasps, his fingers digging into the back of the couch, streaks of fire starting to spread through him from his cock. "Thank you!"

"Don't be thanking me yet," Sam says with a soft chuckle, making sure he fastens the leather nice and tight. "Turn around. Brace your hands against the couch and you can open your eyes if you want." Not entirely sure how close to the letter Ryan follows orders.

With a gulp Ryan does so. His cock bobs heavily and he moans when it brushes the sofa back, pain sparking sharply.

"You been fucked since you last saw me?" Sam asks, fingers slipped between Ryan's cheeks, stroking around his dry hole.

"Oh god. No, Sir," Ryan answers, pressing into Sam's touch. "I nearly prepped for you, but I didn't want... I mean, not without your order, you know?"

"Yeah." Sam wouldn't have cared either way, but the fact that Ryan thought about it, that he'd wanted to please him, that definitely means something. "Good boy," he murmurs, then drops to his knees, spreading Ryan's cheeks wide and inspecting his hole more closely. "So not at all? No one and nothing?" he confirms.

"M- my fingers," Ryan stammers, "once."

"Yeah?" Sam leans in and licks right over that quivering flesh. "How many?"

"Ohjesus." Ryan runs the words together in a single breath like he's actually praying for strength. And he should be -- Sam might just melt his knees out from under him. "Just two, Sir."

"And did you come that way?" Sam asks before licking again, this time forcing his tongue just into Ryan's body.

Ryan gasps and nods before finding his voice. "Yes, Sir." He swallows. "That and my hand. Thought--" He shuts up abruptly.

Sam sits back on his heels, a sly grin curving his lips, his hands still holding Ryan's cheeks apart, his body open. "Thought what?"

 _Fuck!_ "Thought of you," Ryan mutters, his face flaming. Because he didn't feel vulnerable enough already.

Christ. The answer takes Sam by surprise. Not what he was expecting at all. But he recovers quickly, his cock definitely liking the thought even if his brain's busy trying to process its meaning. "Did you now," he murmurs, the question not meant for an answer as he leans forward again, pushing his face between Ryan's cheeks, his tongue into his hole.

Ryan whimpers, fingernails digging into the upholstered sofa. His cock is throbbing with blood, the teeth biting into his flesh and sending out spikes of agony with every hot pulse. Fuck, Sam is good at this. If this is what humiliating confessions fetch him, he might have to think up some more.

Sam pushes deeper, fucking Ryan open with his tongue. His cock throbbing in time to those whimpers.

It's not long before Ryan is desperate, his hips rocking with the thrust of Sam's tongue and his head swimming in a haze of pain and lust. "Sir, please," he gasps, grateful for the wicked sheath which is keeping him in check. Last time he came without Sam's permission; he's determined not to do so again. "Please fuck me, I need you!"

Sam draws back a little, smiling against Ryan's skin while he gives the plea some thought. And then he's rocking to his feet, a condom pulled from his back pocket. Air squeezed from the tip, he lines up, warning Ryan, "This is gonna hurt."

Immediately Ryan's hole clamps down defensively, even while his brain screams _Yes!_ He nods, and swallows hard. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, and focuses on his breathing, consciously relaxing his entire body. Hell yeah it's going to hurt.

Sam starts to push in, meeting resistance almost immediately, but he keeps going, pushing steadily, waiting for Ryan's body to ease up with each press inward, inch by inch slowly gained.

The slow burn drags a groan from Ryan's lips, and - fucking zen breathing aside - he's able to tolerate it for all of a few seconds. Then the muscles of his arms bunch and he slams back onto Sam, taking him deep all at once with a shout of pain.

"Oh fuck," Sam groans, his cock throbbing so violently he'd swear he's going to come right there and then. He grabs Ryan's hips, nails digging deep and hisses, "Don't fucking move."

Ryan grits his teeth against the waves of fire pulsing through him. It's easier said than done, but Sam's hands are a damn good reminder. Two shaky breaths to get himself under control, three, and he nods. Determined to behave.

It's enough time for Sam to get his own urges reined in and he nods too. "Good boy." Grinning as he stays still, right where he is. "Go ahead. You want to move? Let's see you move."

 _Ah, hell._ Ryan is pathologically incapable of backing down from a challenge anyway. He licks his lips, grinning faintly, and pulls slowly away, then eases back until he feels Sam's balls brush his own. Falling into a rhythm he gradually builds speed until the slap of hot flesh on flesh rings out in the room.

Christ. Sam holds onto Ryan's hips, letting the other man ride him, pleasure thrumming steadily through his veins. He lets Ryan establish a fucking brilliant pace then drops one hand to his sheathed cock, gripping it tight.

Ryan cries out, his rhythm instantly faltering. Tears spring to his eyes at the sudden shock of pain and he blinks them back. Later, he might care about that. Right now... he cautiously picks up the pace again, grinding back against Sam and trying to give as good as he's getting.

Ryan feels incredible and it's rare that someone can roll so quickly and smoothly with Sam's moves. He starts stroking Ryan's cock, hand tight around the leather, knowing he's got every one of those teeth biting into the flesh beneath. Leans forward, getting his other arm around Ryan, hand on his chest, fingers playing over those still-healing scabs.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." It's like a mantra. Ryan doesn't even realize he's saying the words aloud. His dick is going to be bruised from this, he's sure of it. Scratched up good, maybe. Sam's hand is on his chest... he slams back, nearly out of his head. "Please," he bursts out, trying to catch his breath, "please let me come!"

"Go ahead. Pull me over with you," Sam growls, shoving in hard against the next slam back.

Ryan yelps. He didn't mean like this... he doesn't know if he can... _fuck!_ Sam's grip is so tight, every stroke lighting him up, and he can do this damn it, he's determined, he can. He keens like a wounded animal, every sense fixated on the lust coiling tight in his balls, the agony all twisted up with the searing pleasure. He clamps down on Sam's cock, gripping him deep inside his body. And then he explodes, coming so hard he shakes, sure he'll shatter.

Sam follows Ryan over with a loud shout, hot heavy spurts flooding the latex between them. Aftershocks rippling through his frame as he keeps Ryan tight against him, cock throbbing hard inside his ass.

Ryan's chest feels raw inside, like he can't get enough air. He gasps, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he slowly starts to come back to himself, barely aware of much more than Sam covering him, surrounding him. Until he shifts position a bare millimeter, and then he bucks against Sam with an oversensitized shout. "Take it off, take it off!"

"Hold still," Sam orders, pulling out and getting Ryan turned around so he can quickly unbuckle the damn thing. "There. Better?" Unable to help the grin that spreads across his face at how bruised and battered Ryan's cock looks.

"Better," Ryan agrees, collapsing breathlessly against the sofa back. He looks suspiciously at Sam, but can't even maintain a good glare -- he's way too mellow. He grins instead. "You're fucking good."

Sam's grin widens. "Thanks. So are you." Cocking his head to one side as he contemplates Ryan. "You haven't opened them again," he says, nodding at the welts on his chest.

Glancing down, Ryan shakes his head. "Letting them heal," he murmurs, and traces lightly along one with a fingertip. "It seemed like time."

Sam nods. "Does that mean you're going to let me cut you?"

Finally beginning to slow down to normal, Ryan's heartbeat begins to race again at those words. _Moment of truth_. He eyes Sam, thinking about the last time they were together, how swiftly and completely Sam had taken him over. How it had scared the hell out of him in retrospect. "I want you to," he says softly. "You want to?"

Sam thinks about that for a minute, the whole thing suddenly seeming far more serious than a moment ago. "Yeah. Yeah, I want to."

Ryan shifts his weight from one foot to the other, leaning back against the sofa. He shrugs one shoulder like it's no big thing. "Then yeah," he says, grinning slightly. "I'm getting you a clean canvas to work on."

"Good. I like working from scratch," Sam says, leaning in to brush his lips across Ryan's.

His grin widening, Ryan reaches out to pull Sam in closer, making room between his thighs -- much as he can, anyway, with his jeans still around his knees. "You do that a lot," he whispers, licking out at Sam's mouth, "kiss me like a tease, I mean. Just makes me want you more."

"Then I guess I should keep doing it," Sam murmurs, nibbling back, his eyes twinkling. "Want to move to the bed?"

"You're asking if I can walk yet?" Ryan slides his hand over Sam's ass, so wrapped up in the moment it's hard to think beyond it. "I guess." He drags his jeans up higher, not bothering to zip them up as he links his hands with Sam's and starts walking backwards towards the bed. "Kiss me again when we get there?"

Sam nods. "I'll even give you a 'real' kiss," he teases.

His shins hit the bed and Ryan grins, then lets go and flops back, arms outstretched. "All yours, then."

Sam grins and climbs onto the bed, straddling Ryan's hips. " _All_ mine?" Strangely enough, he kind of likes the sound of that. Leans forward, bracing his hands above Ryan's shoulders and dropping down to kiss him, long and hard and thorough.

The bed was definitely a good idea. Ryan moans softly, his hands roaming over Sam's back and shoulders. When they break for air, he feels like he's sinking into the mattress. "Now that's a kiss," he whispers.

"Yeah, I know, and there's more where that came from," Sam says, kissing Ryan again. And again.

Wrapping his arms around Sam, Ryan rocks up into him -- then jerks back with a hiss when his prick rubs against Sam's zipper. "Still too sensitive for that," he says with a rueful chuckle.

"We should get these off anyways," Sam says, backing off the bed and dropping his jeans to the floor before pulling Ryan's from his legs as well. "Scoot up and get under the covers," he adds, motioning towards the top of the bed.

"I..." _I should go_ , Ryan thinks, but his body is already obeying. He's always cold when he comes down, Sam knows better, it's just a couple hours... excuses rattle through his head as he pulls back the comforter to make space for Sam. Another intimacy he can freak out over later, on his own.

"There you go," Sam murmurs, settling in beside Ryan and pulling him close. "Naked and warm. Doesn't get better than that."

"Naked and warm and not alone," Ryan amends, a smile in his voice. He shifts to get an arm around Sam, a thigh thrown possessively over him, and relaxes into the embrace. "Pretty damn good."

"Yeah." Sam smiles, kissing Ryan again. "So... you realize I don't know anything about you 'cept you're a fellow Aussie and a brilliant songwriter with a kink for blood."

"Brilliant, eh?" Ryan raises an eyebrow, a flush of pride rushing through him. "I'll remember that." He trails his fingers through Sam's hair, lazily studying the planes of his face. "I'm a real outdoors type. Need to get outside and run or surf or bike - something - everyday, or I get crazy restless. I hate to sleep, because I'm always worried I'll miss something good. And, um..." He shrugs. "I don't understand cats."

Sam laughs. "What's to understand?"

"Well, like... I mean, dogs, I understand," Ryan explains, although he suspects it might have been a rhetorical question. "They're happy to see you, they want to get outside and run around and play. Makes total sense." He strokes his knuckles over the scruff edging Sam's jaw. "Cats... they just sit there. And _stare_ at you."

Sam laughs even harder. "I don't get them either," he admits. "But I've never given it much thought. It's been a while since I was really settled any place so having pets has kind of been out of the question."

"Do you miss being settled?"

"Yes and no. I like not having the responsibility of a house and all the shit that goes with it."

Ryan tugs the blankets a bit more firmly around them, then slips his hand beneath to massage at the muscles of Sam's shoulder. "And yes?"

Sam shrugs. "It gets lonely sometimes. I miss my mates, miss home, get sick of the boy or girl in my bed who I shouldn't have brought up in the first damn place, and no," he says, glancing at Ryan, "that doesn't include you."

Carefully, Ryan relaxes again after those words which had immediately set him on edge. He nods. And changes the subject. "Tell me something about yourself I'd never read in a gossip rag."

"That's a tough one," Sam muses. "I'm a pretty open book." But he gives it some thought. "Although obviously, there's that I like guys, and kink," he grins, knowing damn well that's not what Ryan meant. "Okay, okay. Um." Shit. "I have OCD. You know what that is?"

"I know it's not the same as what my brother's girlfriend insists she has. She's just bloody bossy," Ryan mutters, seeking out knots of tension in Sam's muscles. "How does it work for you?"

"I count things. When I check them. Usually in threes. Door's locked, alarm's set, have my keys... It was worse when I was younger, but no one 'cept my family knows so if it _does_ appear in a gossip mag, I'll know it was you," Sam warns, groaning softly as Ryan's hands work him over.

"I won't tell," Ryan promises, soaking up the noises of appreciation and thinking that the next time they're going to do this properly. If there's a next time. "Does having other people up in your shit stress you out, then?"

Sam nods. "Yeah. Sometimes. I'm a lot better than I used to be and keeping my things to a minimum seems to help." He glances over at Ryan. "So see, you were wrong. I _am_ crazy."

Ryan studies Sam's eyes for a long moment. Then he disentangles from Sam and sits up against the headboard, filching several of the pillows to support his back. He draws his knees up and spreads them wide, holding out a hand to Sam in invitation. "Come here. Breathe with me."

"What do you mean?" Sam asks, giving Ryan a wary look, but already he's moving into position, settling between Ryan's legs, his back against the man's chest.

"Just relax," Ryan says, wrapping his arms around Sam, smoothing his hands down that hard chest. "Shut your eyes." He peeks over Sam's shoulder. "Do that for me?"

"Okay," Sam nods, closing his eyes, not really sure what the hell they're doing but willing to trust Ryan.

Ryan smiles, pleased. "Now breathe in with me. Feel your breath as it enters your body," he says softly, his lips at Sam's ear. "Feel the oxygen spread throughout your veins." He draws his hands up Sam's sides, and along his arms to his fingertips. "Exhale. Feel everything start to tingle."

"This is weird," Sam murmurs, frowning a little.

Safely out of Sam's line of sight, Ryan rolls his eyes. "This is me relaxing with you. If it doesn't work then I'll blow you afterwards, how's that?" He lays his hands back on Sam's chest. "Breathe."

Sam chuckles. "Okay." He sighs and then breathes in, following Ryan's instructions.

Maybe it doesn't do anything for Sam but it works for Ryan, calm flooding him as their breathing matches automatically. ''I like being with you,'' Ryan murmurs against Sam's neck, relaxed into an unguarded moment.

"I like being with you too," Sam says, and it's true, he does. Like he said, Ryan's not one of those boys or girls he regrets bringing up to his room afterwards. One of the ones he keeps downstairs in the bar the next time, if there _is_ a next time.

''What do you think?'' Ryan asks after a few more moments of quiet. ''Want that blowjob now?''

"Nah. I feel pretty relaxed," Sam says with a smile, turning his head to kiss Ryan. "I don't want you getting too freaked out about what I told you though. It really _is_ minor, compared to what it used to be. Most of the time I don't even think about it and it doesn't affect my scening."

Ryan looks at him in surprise. ''You didn't freak me out,'' he says softly, smiling a little. He licks at Sam's ear then grins. ''And I still think you're not crazy.''

Sam laughs. "You just don't know me well enough yet." But he smiles at Ryan. "I'm kidding. You're probably more in danger of finding out how fucking boring I really am."

"Yes." Ryan nods, an earnest expression on his face. "Boring men always think up things like that wicked cock sheath, I've noticed. Feel free to bore me anytime." He can't keep it up; a grin works its way loose.

"Okay." Sam grins back. "So. What's your deep dark secret? I told you mine," he points out.

At first Ryan blanches, thinking of a handful of things he shouldn't, then his expression clears. "I think you already know mine," he says. "I'm that fucked-up mess of a guy who cuts just to jack off in his own blood, but only if I can't get someone else's."

"Why do you think you're a fucked-up mess?" Sam asks. "Because of the cutting?"

"Because of the cutting and the sex together," Ryan answers, watching Sam's eyes. Struck anew by how amazing it is the way Sam accepts him, even is aroused by him. "It took me forever to find someone who could even deal with that."

"You mean me?" Wanting to make sure he's not making assumptions here.

"I meant just willing to tolerate the two together as equal parts of a scene. But you..." Ryan smiles in memory. "You actually got off on it. Totally different attitude."

"Yeah." Sam nods, getting it now. The difference between someone willing and someone wanting. Fucking miles apart. "I don't think you're fucked up at all, but I wouldn't mind hearing your take on why it's what you're into."

"Why...?" Ryan looks blank. It's like asking him why he likes cheesecake. He shrugs, and strokes his fingers over Sam's shoulder. "Blood is the fucking sexiest thing there is," he says softly, reaching inside himself for an explanation. "Hot and vital, an actual physical part of a person they can give of themselves. But just a few seconds and it starts to clot, so if you want to play with blood, it forces you to live in the now. Blood and pain and sex together... that's our three most primal elements, all together. I can't think of anything more compelling."

It's an interesting explanation but not quite what Sam was after. "Yeah, I get that, but there's no defining moment for you? No first time someone bit you or you cut yourself... and you just _knew_ you were going to be wired that way?"

"Ahh, you want a story." Ryan grins. "Got it. I used to box." He briefly holds up his hands in fists. "State welterweight champ. You ever go through that thing where you'd fight with someone and get turned on? When I was seventeen I fought someone, and I already knew I wanted to fuck him. So it was pretty stressful to begin with. But then halfway through the match I got him good and he started bleeding, right here," he traces a fingertip along his cheekbone, "and I just wanted to take him down and _lick_ him. Got so damn distracted I lost the fight, and I'd been winning."

Christ. Sam shifts, his cock showing renewed interest. "You said you wanted to take him down. Do you switch?"

''Nah. Not anymore.'' Ryan shakes his head with a grin. ''Now I'm just a damn pushy sub.''

Sam laughs. "You ever been contracted?"

The question sobers Ryan up some. ''Three years, once. A long time ago.'' He looks at Sam, wanting the focus off of himself. ''How about you, you take boys? There must be thousands who'd be thrilled to travel with you.''

"Maybe, but I haven't. Haven't met anyone I wanted to contract," Sam says with a light shrug. "And I live a pretty nomadic existence. It'd be rough, dragging someone around with me." He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand then asks, "What about you? Would you do it again?"

Ryan can't help but wonder if this conversation is really as innocent as it seems. Are they ever? He chews his bottom lip for long moments before answering, ''I don't know. I would have lived and died for him, you know? It's a lot to get into again.''

Sam nods. "Yeah." Thoughtful. "A hell of a lot," he murmurs, before smiling and giving Ryan another kiss. "You have work you're supposed to get back to or do I have you for a while more?"

''I can stay for a bit,'' Ryan answers, kissing the corner of Sam's mouth. ''I've been on kind of a writing streak this past week. It's good that I'm out clearing my head.'' He grins.

"I thought being on a writing streak was good," Sam says, turning so he can grab Ryan's legs and pull him down the bed. Straddle his hips again. Eyes flashing as he leans in and licks across his lips.

Surprised, Ryan laughs and grinds up against Sam, his cock already starting to harden again. ''Believe me, this is better.''

Sam grins and shoves Ryan's hands above his head, pinning his wrists to the bed. "Keep them there, or I stop," he warns.

Stacking his hands, Ryan links his fingers together and nods, a burst of excitement already flooding through him. ''Yes, Sir.'' Can he help it if he's breathless?

"Good boy," Sam grins, moving down a little so he can fasten his teeth around one already-hard nipple and _bite_.

Ryan bucks, and it's a damn good thing Sam ordered him to keep his hands to himself. Or he'd be all over him right now. As it is, Ryan draws a shaky breath then raises an eyebrow. ''More, Sir?''

"Believe me, I'm just getting started," Sam says, fastening his mouth around Ryan's other nipple and giving it the same treatment. Teeth digging in hard, _thisclose_ to breaking the skin.

That's it, Ryan's sprung. Back arching, he pushes into Sam's mouth. It was a dangerous conversation anyway, and his reasons for coming here today are all messed up inside his head. It all pales to an insignificant hum next to the heat of Sam's body.

Sam moves lower, biting as he goes, wherever he can find enough flesh to leave a mark, avoiding only the already healing cuts. Tongue soothing over each mark before moving to the next. Knowing Ryan will be seeing them for days.

His breaths come in gasps now and Ryan fists his hands together to keep from shoving Sam even lower. Every vicious grind of teeth feels like fire in his flesh. _Christ._ He hisses at the drag of his cock against Sam's chest, leaving a silky trail of precome in its wake.

Under ribs, over hipbones, alternating side to side, Sam closes his mouth on Ryan's skin again and again, the ache between his legs growing stronger and stronger, until his mouth is hovering over Ryan's cock, breath hot upon its head. "And here?" he murmurs, tongue flicking out to taste the liquid at its tip. "Should I leave marks here?"

Ryan's answer is an incomprehensible groan -- maybe not so hard to understand as all that. He barely controls an upward hitch of his hips, lifting his head to watch Sam breathlessly. "Please," he whispers, licking his bottom lip.

Sam grins, licking over and all around the head before taking it into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing the crown before sinking deeper.

Ryan grits his jaws and holds it in for as long as he can. But it's a flat second before he shouts, the sound loud in his ears, his dick painful and swollen, Sam's teeth bringing him right to the ragged edge.

Hell, yes. Sam groans, his own cock needy and heavy. Keeps biting, chewing, gnawing at the head, wondering at what point he'll have pushed too far or if there is one.

Giving up, Ryan slams his hands against the headboard, not trusting himself to hold them tight anymore. He's crying openly but doesn't even notice, rocking against Sam and hurtling through white-hot headspace. "S-- Sydney," he begs, fraying madly, "Sir!"

The moment he hears the word, Sam draws back, grateful in a way to have drawn that from Ryan, to know that he _does_ have limits. "No more biting," he says. "You want my mouth or my hand?" Permission implicit.

"Mouth," Ryan answers, but it's almost too late -- the first soft touch on his ravaged cock and he's already leaking, mere instants from exploding. "Sir!"

A please would be good but Sam figures it's pretty much implicit at this point as well. He smiles and takes Ryan deeper into his mouth, sucking fervently.

A broken yelp and Ryan comes in a hot flood. His fingernails dig into the carved wooden headboard as he tries to anchor himself through the aftershocks. Sam's mouth ravishes him until he feels barely connected to himself.

Every last drop swallowed and Ryan's cock gently cleaned, Sam crawls back up the bed and collapses beside him. "You okay?" he asks, concerned, his hand on Ryan's hip.

"Cold," Ryan mutters, huddling tight in on himself, but yet without the presence of mind to drag a blanket over himself as well. "You," he says, getting an iron grip on Sam's wrist, determined not to let him leave just yet.

"Hey. I'm right here," Sam says, getting the covers up over both of them and pulling Ryan in close. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises.

Some murmured noise of assent and Ryan relaxes, curling up against Sam's chest like he belongs there. His head is still hazy, his body still shocky, but the embrace settles him in an instant.

"Too much?" Sam asks, kissing the top of Ryan's head and tucking the covers in even more firmly around them.

More mumbling, now interspersed with nuzzling of Sam's throat. "Was perfect," Ryan mutters, kissing softly down to Sam's collarbone and resting his head there.

"Good. I like the idea of you wearing my marks," Sam murmurs, smiling, ignoring the still-persistent ache between his thighs and closing his eyes.  



End file.
